If Ever You Should Need Me
by justicemuffins
Summary: Alternatively: Five times Phil kept Steve warm, and one time Steve returned the favor. Steve doesn't like the cold; Phil helps with that.
1. The First Time

**I think everyone has at least one person in their life who is, inexplicably, hot as hell all the time. They walk around in the winter in shorts and you're freezing your ass off. Well, I had a little headcanon that Phil is one of those people who just throws off heat like there's no tomorrow. Mostly because it's an excuse for cuddling and gosh do I love cuddling and it fits so nicely with my "Steve hates the cold" headcanon so have at you.**

* * *

Sometimes Steve is surprised by all the little cracks in his life that Phil seems to fill in. He feels silly with thoughts about two people being meant for one another, destined for one another, talk of soul mates and the like. Because things like that, they're fairytales; like the stories he used to read as a child where there was always a brave knight to strike down evil and there were always happily-ever-afters.

What he does believe in is compatibility and they bring that in spades. It would figure, then, since Steve hates the cold, that Phil would be so very warm.

* * *

"Steve."

He looks up from his incident report as Phil settles beside him on the sofa. A quick glance tells him that the agent has abandoned the reports on his desk to come talk to him.

"Why don't you finish the report later?" Phil suggests. "Go back to the Tower, get some rest."

"I'm not that tired, really," Steve assures him. "I may as well finish the report now. Besides, I'm not clocking out for the day until you do, remember?"

Phil gives him The Look; the one that says he's not happy with his request not being carried out.

"You're shivering," he points out.

Steve is surprised to find that Phil is right. It's only now that he notices his hands shaking. Although, perhaps 'notice' is not the right word. He knows he's shivering because he knows he's cold. He just prefers not to admit it. It's an annoying weakness, being so affected by cold, so he shoves it away as hard as he can. Two days in freezing rain has put a chill in his bones that he can't seem to rid himself of.

"Just cold," he says, shrugging dismissively.

He focuses on the report, but he can feel the other man's gaze on him.

"I'll turn up the heat."

His eyes stay on the paper in his hands but he's listening for Phil's movements. You have to focus if you're trying to follow him; he tends to move silently even when he isn't trying. The closet door opens and he hears shuffling. He's not sure what the agent is looking for until it's draped around his shoulders; a blanket. He looks up in surprise as Phil tucks it around him and settles back on the sofa once again.

"You know I would have turned the heat up earlier if you'd asked," Phil says.

"It's not a big deal," Steve says.

He tries not to react too strongly when the agent places a hand on his thigh. He can feel heat radiating from Phil's open palm, seeping through his khaki slacks, through his skin, his blood, right down to his bones. It trickles down and he finds himself leaning marginally towards the shorter man, his eyes falling shut.

"If it bothers you," Phil is telling him, "then it's a big deal to me."

There's a moment of quiet hesitation before he feels Phil's other hand come to rest at the side of his face. He stiffens momentarily, unsure of what to make of the contact, but relaxes into the touch with a soft sigh before Phil has the chance to second guess himself. They haven't been together very long, have only been on a handful of real dates (coffee and paperwork do not count) when they've managed to find time, and so this is foreign territory. Steve has only been bold enough to kiss Phil once, so he understands the agent's hesitation.

"You've been checked out by medical?" Phil asks.

"You know I have," Steve mumbles.

"I just want to be sure," Phil answers.

Steve's aware of the hand leaving his face and the reports being taken from his lap and he opens his eyes. "I can finish—"

"No," Phil says, cutting him off. "You've been awake for three days. I shouldn't have allowed you to start them in the first place."

Steve sits up a little straighter, a frown making its way to his face.

"I can take care of myself," he says.

"Then see that you do, Captain Rogers," Phil counters. He holds up a hand when Steve begins to retort. "Hear me out."

Steve eases back on the sofa giving Phil the opening to talk.

"As team leader, it's your responsibility to ensure that you're well rested and prepared for action whenever duty calls. I appreciate that you take your reports seriously, but they can wait. I can guarantee that neither Agent Barton nor Mr. Stark have so much as thought of theirs, so one night won't hurt you," Phil explains. "Furthermore, as the S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers, it's my duty to look after each of its members. That includes you. I can't do my job if you're going to fight me on this. If you won't return to the Avengers Tower and rest there, then I ask that you please, at the very least, rest for a few hours here. The paperwork will still be here when you wake up."

"You are the very last person who should be preaching about letting the paperwork go for one night," Steve points out.

"Maybe, but it doesn't make what I've said any less true," Phil says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Just a few hours. I promise I'll wake you up if you sleep more than five."

Steve thinks it over. He can claim he's not tired as long as he likes, but this mission has worn him out more than he can say. Curling up for a nap under a nice, warm blanket sounds far too tempting. And it's only a few hours, right? He sighs.

"Just a few hours," he says.

"Just a few," Phil echoes.

He's glad when he shuts his eyes and Phil makes no move to get up from the sofa. The sound of the scratch of a pen on paper reaches his ears and he knows the agent must have shifted his workload to the table in front of them. Sleep gradually begins to set in and he hardly notices as he begins to tip over. Very soon he feels warmth wash over him, the kind that reaches down to his bones where the cold has nestled itself like a parasite. He tries to move closer to it… and it moves, too. That drags him back from the cozy arms of semi-consciousness and prompts him to open his eyes and discover that the source of the warmth is actually Phil.

"You're fine where you are," the agent assures him when he moves as though to sit up. "If you want to stay, that is."

That hesitation is back. Steve's not sure what to do himself; his head is resting on Phil's shoulder. Admittedly, the only reason he feels like moving is because he's not sure what kind of boundary this crosses for both of them, but Phil himself had just told him it's all right. And he's so warm. Why is he so warm?

"Why're you so warm?" Steve asks.

"My body temperature has always run on the hotter side. It's something that's been known to drive people out of my bed," Phil admits. He hears something like amusement in the agent's voice. "You don't seem to mind, though."

Steve shakes his head and nuzzles closer, an arm sliding across Phil's middle.

"No," Steve murmurs drowsily. "You feel good."

He hears the shorter man clear his throat. The noise sounds embarrassed to him, but there's a hand patting his knee suddenly and he can't bring himself to think too long on it.

"Get some sleep, Captain."

He does.

When he wakes again, the office is lit only by the small lamp on Phil's desk. Someone must have turned off the overhead lights (his money's on Jasper Sitwell). He doesn't need the dim light to be able to tell that he's essentially sprawled on top of the agent, but what he's surprised to see is that Phil is fast asleep. The shorter man has slouched in his seat just enough so that the angle allows Steve's head to lie pillowed on his chest. The soldier doesn't move, and instead listens to the steady thud of the agent's heartbeat and each slow, easy breath. He turns his head slightly, glancing up. Phil's head is resting against the knuckles of his right hand, his elbow propped on the arm of the sofa. Steve can feel Phil's other arm wrapped securely around his shoulders.

Phil wasn't lying when he said his body temperature ran on the hot side; the agent throws off heat like a small furnace. With the blanket that had previously been around Steve's shoulders now pulled over both of them, all that heat is trapped beneath it. He could wake Phil up, get them both on their way back to the Tower. But there's the chance that if he wakes Phil, the man will go straight back to doing paperwork.

He decides it's best not to risk it.


	2. A Second Time (and a First Time)

**This chapter has sex. If you don't like that, go away.**

* * *

The first time they have sex is embarrassing.

It takes a while for Steve to work up the nerve to agree to it, not because of his "delicate 1940s sensibilities" as Tony had suggested—more than once—but rather for the simple fact that he's afraid of screwing it up. It's a bit of a big deal for him, losing his virginity—something else that Tony never failed to tease him about—and he wants his first time to be, well… worthwhile. For both of them. He'd waited with the intention of making sure he'd found "the right one" and now there's no question of it.

Phil is "right" in almost every way he can imagine. A little too much so. The agent is really everything he could want in a partner and then some, so the fear of disappointing him is enormous. Which is why he's hesitating as he kneels on the bed between the agent's legs. He feels a hand on his forearm and looks up into Phil's face, taking note of how arousal parts to make way for concern.

"We can stop any time you want," Phil reminds him.

"I… No, I know," Steve answers, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. "I'm ready."

"Okay," Phil says after a moment of studying him. "Just remember to take it slow."

The instruction is really for both of them; for Steve's nerves and Phil's comfort. He's not an idiot, he'd seen how much Phil had to be prepped for this and the last thing he wants to do is hurt the man. He holds his breath as he slowly pushes inside Phil, checking now and again for signs of discomfort on the other man's face. In-between these glances, he watches as Phil takes him in inch by inch until he's fully sheathed within his partner.

He pauses there, his breath shaky as he marvels at the tight heat surrounding him. There's an odd tingle in his chest as he meets Phil's gaze and sees lust coupled with utter adoration. Phil smiles at him.

"Congratulations on losing your virginity," he says.

Steve huffs a laugh, feeling giddy, high on… something. Rocking his hips experimentally and finding himself quite pleased with the results, he begins thrusting slowly, delighted when Phil easily picks up and matches his rhythm. He's consistently amazed by how warm Phil is when they sleep together, but now, inside him, that heat is unbelievable. It's like he can feel it everywhere, running through his veins, pooling in his chest. Resisting the urge to close his eyes is nearly impossible as he gives in to sensation and his hips quickly lose their brief rhythm.

"God, Phil," Steve murmurs, only absently aware of how harshly he's breathing. "You feel so good…"

He hears a quick intake of breath as the muscles around him clench briefly and god if he can do that to Phil with just a few simple words, he wonders what other kinds of reactions he can wring out of the agent. He doesn't get the chance to find out when, suddenly, he feels an all too familiar sensation and he can't even get the words out to warn Phil before his hips stutter and he comes with his face pressed to the pillow beside Phil's head.

For a minute, he's too caught in the moment to feel embarrassed, moaning as he spills himself inside another human being for the first time in his life. Eventually though, as his thrusts slow to a stop and the high of his orgasm begins to die down, he's left panting with shame pooling in his stomach. He doesn't move, keeping his face to the pillow as he tries to collect himself, wondering how he could possibly apologize for such a disappointing performance.

"Steve?" he hears Phil say questioningly, sounding slightly out of breath. He feels fingers in his hair, moving gently, soothingly. "You okay?"

Steve's never been one for cowardice and figures he's hidden long enough. He pulls back enough to be able to see the agent face-to-face.

"I'm sorry," he says honestly.

Phil frowns. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I do," Steve corrects him. "I shouldn't've… I mean I should've lasted longer. I didn't even warn you, I just…"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Phil is quick to assure him. "This isn't unusual. I wasn't expecting mind-blowing sex our first time."

"I know that," Steve answers, his features now set in a heavy frown, not responding to the lighthearted attempt at humor. "I just didn't want to disappoint you. I wanted this to be good for both of us, but I barely lasted five minutes and you're not even close to finishing."

Phil gives him one of his looks, the one that says it's no use arguing with him. "It's _fine_. This is about you, not me."

"It's supposed to be about both of us."

"And eventually it will be. But the first few times, I want to focus on you," Phil says. "Or did you think you were the only one nervous about being a disappointment?"

"You? Nervous?" Steve says, as though the two words should never appear in conjunction. "But you've had sex before."

"Not with you," Phil says. "Being your first is… admittedly intimidating."

"What? No, God, Phil you were… Christ you were perfect," Steve says with unabashed honestly.

That warm, pleasant tingle in his chest is back when he sees the agent flush slightly. He can't imagine Phil being nervous about this, about him. Not when he's been so composed through it all.

"In any case," Phil says, clearing his throat, "as I said, I wanted to focus on you the first few times we do this. I wanted your first time to be good for you, for you to feel safe and unpressured. We can get to a more mutual arrangement in the future, but for now, I just want to make sure you're taken care of."

"I was," Steve says. "I am."

"Then that's all that matters."

He leans forward for a kiss, glad for Phil's patience but still feeling ashamed for being unable to please his partner the way he would have liked. The kiss grows heated, both of them fighting for dominance, and when Phil arches up against him he can feel the agent's erection still pressed between them. He withdraws from the kiss reluctantly.

"You haven't come yet," he notes.

"That's okay."

The reply is breathy, but sincere.

"Not to me."

He draws a great deal of pleasure from the way Phil jumps when he snakes a hand between them and grips the shorter man's cock. He can feel for himself how hard and wanting Phil is, whatever he may say about it to the contrary.

"You don't have to," Phil says with carefully controlled calm.

"I want to," Steve assures him, giving him one slow stroke. "Please?"

Phil hesitates before nodding slowly, giving him the go-ahead. This, at least, is familiar territory. Mostly. It's still rather new, but not quite so new as what they've just done. He takes his time, watching carefully to see which things Phil likes and which will really drive him crazy. They're still learning about each other in many ways, and this particular area is one where their database is woefully lacking. But they've moved at a pace that is comfortable to both of them and he can't complain about that.

Steve moves back into their previously abandoned kiss, his free hand wandering aimlessly around every inch of skin he can reach. It's a mystery to him how Phil can feel fever-hot to the touch and yet not be bothered in the slightest by that. Even when Phil's wearing a suit, if Steve places his hand on the agent's shoulder, for instance, he can still feel the hint of the heat beneath it. It's become something of a comfort.

He slides a hand up the shorter man's chest until his fingers brush across scar tissue and the tattoo which he knows is there but can't see at the moment. The hand on his shoulder grips tightly and he feels Phil lose control of their kiss as he stalls for a short period of time. It's taking some time for the agent to feel comfortable with anyone seeing, much less touching, the jagged scar over his heart, but they're getting there. It's a gradual process. Steve slows down, his kiss less frantic, his strokes slow and languid as he waits for Phil to find his center and spends that time focusing on the steady thud of the heartbeat beneath his palm. Phil gives his wordless assurance that he's fine by kissing him back; hard.

Steve has made Phil come before, but this time is different. This time he _feels_ it. He feels muscles clamp down on him as a wet warmth coats his fist. Still sensitive from his own orgasm, the feeling of muscles clenching around his spent cock is almost overwhelming. He wonders what it will feel like when he's able to last long enough to make Phil come first.

Phil taps on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, and he stops pumping his fist, realizing the stimulation must be getting uncomfortable by this point. He draws back from the kiss also, to take in the fuzzy fondness that's replaced the lust in the agent's eyes.

"You didn't have to do that," Phil says, a little out of breath now.

"I told you already, I wanted to," Steve reminds him. He pauses. "Should, I, uh… should I pull out, now?"

Phil nods. "Slowly."

He does so, biting his lip as even that action is added stimulation. There's a little sigh from Phil when he pulls out completely that makes his lips quick up at the edges and he rolls onto his side to lie next to the man. Phil pats Steve's hand as he moves to sit up.

"Give me a minute to get cleaned up," he says.

Steve nods, shivering as Phil's fingertips trail along his skin when he rises from the bed. He rolls onto his back as Phil pads across the bedroom floor and disappears into the bathroom. He feels strange. In a good way, but strange all the same. He's having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that he and Phil just had sex; he knows it happened but it still feels surreal.

He suppresses a shiver. The bed feels cold without Phil in it. The agent in question returns not a moment later, carrying a cloth. He himself is already clean and as he slides into bed, he runs the damp cloth between Steve's legs. Coupled with the sweat cooling on his skin, the damp cloth raises goosebumps as Phil proceeds to clean him up. He's glad when Phil finishes and deposits the cloth on the floor beside their clothes. He makes no objection as Steve wraps him up in his arms, holding him close as their legs tangle beneath the sheets.

"We can try again whenever you feel like it," Phil says with his lips pressed to Steve's throat.

Steve would be happy just drifting off to sleep right then and there. He could. He's quite content to bask in the warm weight of Phil in his arms, to let that heat soak into him like he's slipping into a warm bath. But then he remembers that unbelievable heat when he was inside Phil and as the agent shifts, one of his legs brushes in just the right way between Steve's, he's done in. He clears his throat.

"Whenever?" he echoes.

Phil tilts his head up, looking up to him with raised eyebrows.

They don't sleep much, but neither of them are particularly bothered by that fact.


	3. A Third Time

"Agent Coulson? Are you there?"

"Here, Captain."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious. You?"

"Nothing that won't heal."

"Hold on, let me get my…"

He hears a series of cracks before Phil's face is suddenly illuminated before him. He's got a glow stick in hand and Steve can see the small trickle of blood snaking out from underneath the brim if his hat. Reaching out, he pushes the hat up and out of the way, inspecting the gash along the agent's brow for himself.

"It's not serious," Phil says, swatting his hands away.

"Well, I had to check for myself anyway," Steve says before turning to look at the mouth of the cave. He frowns when Phil waves the light in that direction. "Looks like we're packed in pretty tight."

"Seems that way," Phil agrees.

They'd been lucky to find the small cavern when the avalanche had struck. He assumes their pursuers were not quite so lucky. But now they're trapped with no way out behind a thick wall of snow and ice. Steve judges the snow in front of him. Maybe he could use his shield to dig them out? But that risks the chance of a cave-in. He thrusts his shield into the snow experimentally and feels Phil grip his arm when there's a warning rumble from overhead. He pulls his shield out with a frown.

"I guess we're staying put," he notes.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. should have picked up on our distress signal," Phil assures him. "At most we'll be here overnight."

Steve makes an unhappy noise at that.

"We'll be fine," Phil says. "So long as we stay put and stay together."

He slings the pack from his shoulders and takes a knee as he rummages through it for something. Steve paces impatiently; he's never taken sitting and waiting to be rescued very well. He can be patient when he needs to be, it's just that this isn't one of those times where he _wants_ to be. There's nothing either of them can do at the moment and he knows it, but it doesn't make having to wait sit any easier with him. He'd rather be doing something about it, but the problem is that there's nothing he _can_ do. So they'll wait.

"Are you through pacing or do you think you're going to go for wearing a track into the snow?" Phil asks him.

Steve arches an eyebrow. "It's better than sitting still."

"Not especially."

"…I know, I just don't like sitting still."

"Get over here already."

As he sits beside the agent, he sees what Phil had been rummaging for: a space blanket. Ah. So that's how it is. He's no idiot; he'd had to set up enough two-man bivouacs during his time in the army to know they'll do better to stay put and preserve body heat until help arrives and they're dug out. With a shake of his head, he works with Phil to maneuver themselves so that they're lying on their sides, their heads pillowed on Phil's knapsack and the space blanket tucked around them. Phil's back is to his chest and he wraps his arms around the shorter man's waist, keeping them pressed close together.

"You still have the chip?" Steve asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Safe and sound," Phil answers. There's a heartbeat of silence before he speaks again. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm not going to curl into the fetal position every time it snows, Phil," Steve snorts.

"I never said you would. I asked for a status report, Captain Rogers," Phil responds evenly.

It's a soft reprimand, but a reprimand all the same. When they're on the job, they're Captain Rogers and Agent Coulson. They take professionalism in the workplace very seriously which means, namely, that for all intents and purposes, from the moment they clock in to the moment they clock out their relationship doesn't exist. When they're home, when they're alone and their duty has been done and all the t's have been crossed and the i's dotted, then they can be Steve and Phil. But until then, they can't afford to cross that line.

Fraternization within S.H.I.E.L.D. is actually not really frowned upon, unless you happen to be on the same team. There's all sorts of risk involved, including being compromised because your lover is in danger. In any other instance, Phil would have been transferred. Thankfully, they'd been able to avoid that through a meeting which had lasted several hours. Nick Fury is many things, but an idiot is not one of them. They'd assured the Director that their personal relationship would in no way impact their professional one and they've held to that promise. For the most part. Sometimes, when one of them is injured or in danger, maintaining that professional distance becomes difficult.

Now is one of those times.

"I'm fine, Phil. You don't have to worry," Steve says, his gloved hand patting the agent's stomach. He'll be damned if they spend the whole night as Captain America and Agent Coulson. "I'm better now."

He feels a sliver of tension ease from the other man's body at that. So Phil really _had_ been worried. Steve shifts marginally closer, amazed at how warm it's gotten already beneath the blanket.

"How is it that it's below freezing outside and you're still hotter than a wood stove?" he asks, sporting a faint grin that Phil can't see but can in all likelihood hear.

"I don't hear you complaining," Phil says.

"Why would I complain about my own personal, living, breathing hot water bottle?" Steve asks with a chuckle, levering himself up just enough to press a kiss to the agent's jawline.

Phil is still for a moment before rolling back just enough to be able to look over his shoulder and into Steve's eyes. Steve's being given that hard, appraising look that's usually reserved for Peter Parker and Crew these days. The one where he thinks someone's up to something.

"…this isn't the part where you suggest sex to stay warm, is it?" Phil asks, his tone flat.

"I'm appalled that you would reduce me to such a cliché," Steve answers, feigning insult.

"Cliché for most people is your definition of old-fashioned and romantic," Phil reminds him.

"And sex in a bivouac is neither of those," Steve says.

"In the right light, you know, the 'we're-probably-going-to-die-here' light, it can be."

"Now who's being cliché?"

"Just following your lead, Captain."

"Funny, I seem to recall _you_ starting this."

"The flirting originated from your end, I assure you."

"Hardly. You know I would never be as unprofessional as to flirt during a mission, Agent Coulson."

"Berlin."

"Doesn't count and you know it."

"Copenhagen."

"I did that to maintain your cover."

"You did that because you were jealous."

"If you're bringing jealousy to the table, need I remind you of Okinawa?"

"I thought I was fairly professional."

"You were burning holes in the back of Tony's skull."

"Fair enough."

He feels Phil's gloved hands rubbing at his own, generating heat through friction. It's a gesture the agent typically uses to comfort him; after a hard mission, when he's being hard on himself, when he's angry or frustrated. Steve likes the warmth of Phil's clever hands and how the agent seems to know just how to wind him down. He knows that's what Phil's doing now, because the shorter man knows that Steve is keyed up, thrumming with adrenaline, biting at the bit to finish the mission. But they can't do that snowed in, so that energy just eats at him instead.

But that warmth makes him drowsy, calms him down. He's still frustrated by being trapped, but it's eased somewhat by the cozy atmosphere they've created in making the best of a bad situation.

"Getting warmer?" Phil asks.

"Absolutely," Steve answers.

He reaches up and tugs Phil's collar down, just enough to kiss his neck, the spot just below the agent's ear that he knows the man loves (and hates). A little self-satisfied grin tugs at his lips when he feels Phil squirm against him. But no, that will have to wait until after they're home and have been debriefed. The mission comes first, so he settles for heaving a slow sigh and prodding Phil into a word game to pass the time.

When their rescue arrives early the next morning, Steve has to admit that spending a night snowed into a cave was just as bad as he thought it would be, but that spending a night curled around Phil definitely made it easier.


	4. A Fourth Time (With a Little Company)

The three of them are crouched in a dark, dank room within the castle, their breath coming out in puffs of smoke in the cold air that the darkness makes it impossible to see. Steve is tense, knowing the need to get moving, but those Doombots outside will prove to be a problem. He feels heat against his left side and knows Phil is there. He turns his head to the side, whispering harshly.

"Agent Sitwell, you shouldn't have taken that shot."

"It was a reflex," Jasper says, his tone strained.

"Well, I can heal a hell of a lot quicker than you."

"You're welcome."

"Sitwell, hold still," Phil says just after. "Captain Rogers, how is our exit looking?"

Steve peers through the darkness into the distance, where the Doombots scour the area, searching for them. He shakes his head and remembers that Phil probably can't see him.

"It's a no-go," he says. "We're going to have to wait and see if they disperse."

Phil makes a dissatisfied noise at that and he hears shuffling. His eyes are gradually beginning to adjust to the darkness, enough so that he can at least make out the two huddled forms beside him. He frowns, trying to make out just what's happening. Phil is tending to Jasper's wound, he knows that much, but how well it's going is a mystery to him.

"How's he looking?" he asks, his gaze flickering towards their exit.

"It's hard to say without any light, but I think it may just be a clean through-and-through," Phil answers. "That doesn't mean he isn't still losing blood."

"We need to get him out of here," Steve says.

"He's still here and would appreciate it if you stopped talking about him like he wasn't in the room," Jasper cuts in.

"Yes, point taken, stop squirming," Phil says.

Steve thinks he hears the agent grumble something about how he wouldn't be squirming if Phil wasn't poking his fingers around in his open wound, but it could have been his imagination. The thing is, they need a way out and the way they'd come in doesn't look like it will be a viable option anytime soon. He draws away from Phil, feeling along the walls. He hadn't seen anything resembling an exit when they'd ducked into the room, but then, he'd hardly seen much of anything in the first place.

A draught reaches his fingertips and, when he pushes at its source, he can feel the grating of stones against each other. Lining his shield up, he delivers a quick punch and opens up a sizable hole in the wall. Moonlight spills in as he knocks away enough stones to make the hole large enough for all of them to pass through before peering out and down. It's a bit of a drop, but there _is_ something below to break their fall.

"Phil, I've got another exit," he says, calling back quietly to the agent. "I don't know if you're going to like it, though."

"Why?" Phil ventures.

"We have to jump into the moat," Steve answers.

"Of course we have to jump into the moat," Jasper sighs. "…but it's better than staying here."

There's a crash at the doorway as the Doombots discover their hiding spot. Hurrying back to the pair of crouched agents, he all but yanks them to their feet and he and Phil support Jasper between them as they move towards the hole he'd made in the wall.

"Brace yourselves, this is going to be cold," Steve warns them.

"I won't flinch if you won't," Jasper says.

"We're jumping on three," Phil says, reaching up to pull Jasper's glasses off his face. "One – Two – Thr—"

The explosion from behind as the Doombots break through sends them tumbling from the wall before Phil can finish his count. There's a rush of cold wind and then they plunge straight into the icy, murky depths of the trench. For a moment, panic grips him as Steve's mind is unwittingly pulled back to that plane in the Arctic, but he can feel Jasper's hand squeezing his arm and he kicks to the surface with them.

There's a good deal of gasping as they come up above the water, until Steve feels something in the water beside them and, without thinking, lashes out. His punch catches something scaly and toothed and he doesn't have time to think about what it could possibly have been as they scramble up and out of the frigid water. They sit for a moment, coughing and spluttering as they try to figure out where to go from there.

"Did you just… punch a crocodile in the nose?" Jasper asks him.

"I'm not sure," Steve says, panting. "I think so? I might have."

There's a sudden roar overhead and they're greeted by the blessed sight of a Quinjet touching down as the Hulk and Thor swarm the castle in tandem, with Iron Man providing back-up and the duo of Hawkeye and Black Widow not far behind.

"Looks like the cavalry's arrived," Phil notes.

_"We leave you three alone for a few hours and look at the mess you made. Tsk, tsk, Agent Coulson, I really expected better of you,"_ Tony says through the coms.

"You were due to rendezvous with us fifty-three minutes ago, Iron Man," Phil responds, his tone all business as he gets to his feet. "We've got an injury on our hands because of your tardiness."

"Because someone wouldn't just let me take the bullet instead like he should have," Steve says.

"I told you it was a _reflex_," Jasper says, hissing in pain as they pull him to his feet once again.

_"Taking a shot for Captain America? Someone just earned brownie points with Coulson,"_ Clint whistles.

Steve steadies the wounded agent as he sways dangerously, shifting his weight to Phil. "Let's just get this wrapped up."

Six Avengers turns out to be far better than one and it isn't long before they're all loaded back on the Quinjet with Tony chittering happily about whatever piece of technology he'd pried from one of the 'Bots. Steve is pressed up against Phil—who is nearly dry, amazingly—while Jasper is slumped against the agent's other side. The wound is serious, though not fatal, but Jasper's lost a lot of blood and is still in pain besides as he drifts in and out of consciousness. Steve leans across Phil to check the makeshift bandage, frowning at the blood soaking through, but Bruce had been quick to assure him that Jasper would be fine so long as they got him straight to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical facilities. The Bruce had promptly passed out, the strain of his transformation finally proving too much, and Natasha had been quick to cover him with another one of the blankets on-board.

"Well, you three certainly had yourselves an adventure," Clint says, eyebrows raised.

"You missed it," Jasper mumbles into Phil's shoulder. "Captain 'Merica punched a crocodile. Right in th'face."

"How big was the creature?" Thor asks, looking excited by the prospects.

"Oh, uh, I don't think it was a very big one, Thor," Steve responds. "Not by your standards."

"I have never had occasion to face a crocodile," Thor notes wistfully. "You and I shall have to seek out a more sizeable beast to do battle with."

"For the sake of good PR, please don't," Phil says. "I don't want to have to explain to animal rights activists why the Avengers are punching crocodiles in the face."

"Ah, yes. Jane has explained this to me," Thor says. "Forgive me, Son of Coul, I spoke without thought."

That earns a chuckle—or at least a slight grin—from most of them. As they lapse into silence, Steve feels Phil's hand steal into his. He doesn't look to his partner, not wanting to draw attention to the action, but it catches him off guard. Neither of them are one for this this kind of public display of affection and if anything, they've made rules against it. The mission isn't over until the day is saved and the paperwork done, so the fact that Phil's initiating this sort of contact is surprising. But he's not complaining.

He feels the agent's thumb running over his knuckles soothingly and he's glad that he divested himself of his gloves a short time ago. It's that familiar motion, the one Phil employs most often in trying to calm him, and he can't bring himself to be annoyed by the idea that Phil thinks he needs it.

"Whoa there," Tony says suddenly, staring at something on the gauntlet of his suit and then back to Phil. "You're hot."

Steve sees Phil's lips twitch, just a hair. "I'm flattered, Mr. Stark, but I'm also spoken for."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up. I meant your body temperature, Agent Agent. It's way higher than it should be after your little ice bath."

"He does that," Jasper mumbles. "Why d'you think I always sit next to him on long flights?"

"Okay, that's an interesting tidbit," Tony says. He looks thoughtful. "In which case, maybe Bruce should switch seats with Captain Spangles."

"Tony," Steve says, ready with an angry retort. Until he sees Tony's point; Bruce is still rather naked and it's still rather cold out. The blankets can only do so much. He looks to Phil. "Would you mind?"

"Move him over here," Phil answers without hesitation.

Steve scoots over and Thor gently shifts Bruce into the vacated space next to Phil. Steve has to try very hard not to laugh as Bruce mumbles in his sleep and nuzzles closer to Phil, who goes a shade redder and clears his throat as he squirms slightly in his seat. Obviously the sudden focus on him has made him somewhat uncomfortable. He shoots the agent an apologetic look.

"Did any of you know about this?" Tony asks. "That Agent's packing heat in pretty much every sense of the word?"

"That time I was going into hypothermia in Minnesota," Clint says, nodding.

"That time we had to share a bed in Miami," Natasha says, her tone indicating it was not a pleasant experience.

"I did warn you," Phil says mildly.

"I thought you were exaggerating," Natasha replies.

"I don't exaggerate, you know that."

"I did after that."

"So you two," Tony says, pointing at Steve and Jasper, "have been hogging him to yourselves all this time?"

"Finders keepers, Stark," comes Jasper's muffled reply.

"It's good to know I'm making a valuable contribution to the team," Phil says flatly.

Steve hears a snort of laughter from Jasper and Bruce only shifts closer to Phil. Maybe it's a little unfair to him, being used like this, but Steve knows that Phil would never say no. Not to Jasper or to Bruce or to any of them if they asked—and most likely even if they didn't.

His ears twitch when he hears Phil clear his throat. He glances to the side, but the agent isn't looking at him. Instead, he sees Phil's hand held out over Bruce's lap. He doesn't question the action, just does as Phil wants and takes his hand, breathing a sigh of relief at the familiar warmth. It's not how Phil usually likes to keep him warm, but he finds it's very nearly as effective.


	5. A Fifth Time

"I've gotta put her in the water," Steve says, his tone distant.

_"Out of the question. You stay in the air until Iron Man arrives, Captain,"_ Phil tells him over the comm.

"It's either I put it in the water or you tell me how to reroute its course before it reaches its intended target," Steve bites back sharply. "What's it going to be?"

For a moment he hears Phil breathing over the line, loud and quick, and he knows the agent is struggling to come up with something else, anything that will stop this sad repeat of history. Jumping the plane and letting them shoot it down is out of the question; it's rigged to blow if he opens the door. So unless by some miracle Tony can get there to hack into it safely or Jasper can manage to do it remotely, his only choice is to take her down. They both know there's no other option to be had.

_"Put her in the water, Captain." _

He's proud of how calm Phil's voice is. He's proud of how Phil has always put duty before their relationship. He knows it's killing the agent to have said that to him just now and he can't stand the idea of breaking the other man's heart. But it's necessary, this is bigger than them. He pushes the throttle and angles the plane into a dive.

"I'm sorry," he says.

_"Don't be. It'll be different this time,"_ he hears Phil say. _"I'll find you."_

"You mean you'll find me again," Steve corrects him with a sad smile. "You know it's not good practice to make promises in this business."

_"I don't make promises I can't keep,"_ Phil says firmly. _"We have your position, you just need to hold on until we get there. I know you can do that. You did it for seventy years, you can do it for five minutes. We're coming for you, just hol—"_

Phil's voice cuts out in the midst of the jarring impact of the plane breaching the water. Steve had remained silent, knowing that by not speaking he was just letting Phil work himself up, but he hadn't wanted the last say. He'd wanted to go down with Phil's voice in his ear. But now, as icy water floods the cabin, perhaps he should have said something.

As the water rises above his neck, he thinks of the things he should have said. He holds his breath when there is no longer any air and he's completely submerged, wanting to scream as the dark and the cold and the pain and the fear set in. Because he _is_ afraid.

He should have told Phil that he loved him. He should have told him that he's never been happier than he's been with Phil. He should have told him that and more. He doesn't want to die here, but he'll gladly choose death over waking up in another seventy years. Because he can't do it. Not again. Not without Phil. He doesn't _want_ to do it.

He holds his breath as long as he can, until he's dizzy and he can see spots behind his eyelids and then suddenly he can't any longer. It leaves him in a rush of bubbles as he unwillingly sucks in the first lungful of icy water.

* * *

When they say drowning is just like going to sleep, they're lying. Or they're ignorant. Either way, they have no idea what they're talking about. It's horrifying and painful. Steve has never felt as cold and alone as he has when he's drowned. This time is different though.

He chokes, flailing as he coughs. There's a hand on his back as he vomits up seawater, rubbing encouragingly. It's hard, cold, he doesn't like it.

"You got this, get it all up. Just cough it right up."

He coughs and coughs until he thinks he's going to suffocate and then at last his body draws a great, whooping breath. And he coughs some more. He can't breathe. He scrabbles ineffectually at the ground, trying to get away, but there's a new set of hands holding him in place, shifting him into the recovery position.

"It's alright, we've got you. I need you to breathe for me, Steve."

A different voice for the different set of hands. There's warmth from the one gripping his shoulder and he does his best to follow the given directions.

"That's it. In and out. Slow it down for me, just relax. In and out, Steve, breathe with me; in… out… in… out…"

He draws shivering breaths and gradually the panic begins to recede, enough so that he can begin to assess where he is. Where he is happens to be the deck of the Helicarrier. Phil and Tony are crouched over him, both of them soaking wet as medical personnel swarm around them like flies. He tries to speak and, though the thoughts he had moments prior to losing consciousness are all scrambled, he just knows he needs to talk to Phil. But he can't speak. He makes a weak grab at the agent's suit coat and fists his hand in it, holding on for dear life as he looks imploringly up at the man, still trying to force the words out even as he gasps for air.

"I'm here," Phil says, as though he understands, running his fingers through Steve's hair. "I'm right here. We have you. You're safe."

He doesn't know if the words are more for his benefit or Phil's, but when he feels the hand on his cheek shaking, he knows it's not from the cold. He puts up a fight when the medics try to move in, not wanting to be separated, but Tony is quick to reassure him.

"Come on, buddy, Phil's going to be right beside you. We're all taking a nice little trip down to medical together to make sure none of us die from hypothermia," Tony says, patting his bicep.

Steve relaxes then. Just as Tony said, Phil doesn't leave his side. He and Tony flank him, walking alongside the stretcher as he's wheeled away. He closes his eyes, gripping Phil's hand tightly, focusing on that familiar feeling of the man's thumb brushing his knuckles.

In the end, they're all kept for observation. Steve is treated for his injuries, and though he knows they'll be gone in record time, the painkillers are still appreciated. Mostly, anyway. When he wakes again, he's groggy. He still can't seem to get the taste of salt water from his mouth and that makes him feel ill and cold. A hand squeezes his and he turns his head to find the source.

Phil is sitting beside his bed in a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. issue sweats, studying him intently.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

He has about a hundred answers to that question, but he settles on one.

"Cold," he rasps.

"I'll get you another blanket," Phil says, rising from his seat.

He stops when Steve tugs on his hand. Steve looks to him, his eyes imploring.

"Please," is all he can say.

Phil stands still for what feels like a very long while before he nods his head. The bed is not built for two, really, but they make it work. It feels like coming home when the agent's arms are around him, holding him close, and he melts into the touch, pressing his face to Phil's chest. He's quite content to lie there, to count breaths and heartbeats as Phil's warmth envelops him, focusing on the fact that he's alive and his partner is close at hand. He misses the scent of the agent's cologne, but he'll take the smell of clean and antiseptic over the smell of the sea. Suddenly Phil is pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his grip tightening in a manner that smacks of desperation.

"I'm so sorry."

It hurts him to hear it.

"Don't," he replies.

"I'm so sorry you had to do that," Phil continues, heedless of the warning. "Again."

"It's okay," Steve says, even though they both know it isn't.

Okay is the very last thing it is, but he's trying to focus on the positives. He knows there will be a fresh wave of nightmares waiting for him in the wake of this ordeal, but he's not going to let them consume him like they did before. He can't afford to.

"I wanted to tell you that I loved you," he says, clearing his throat.

Phil is silent for a stretch of time.

"It's better that you didn't," the agent says.

Steve looks up.

"It would have felt too much like a goodbye," Phil clarifies.

"I didn't think of it that way," Steve admits. "But I couldn't get it out of my head. The fact that I hadn't said it. There were so many things I wanted to say to you and I hadn't said any of them and all I could think of was that I might _never_ get to say them."

"You can say them later. You have time."

"I was afraid of dying without telling you I love you."

"Stop. Please."

It occurs to him then that he might not be the only one with nightmares. There are two sides to every story and he hasn't stopped to consider Phil's. That, maybe, it was just as horrifying having to let Steve go down as it was for Steve to go down. That maybe the thoughts he'd been having weren't so different from the ones Phil may have had. He makes up his mind right then and there.

"Phil."

He waits until the agent is looking him in the eye before he proceeds. He almost loses his nerve when he sees the carefully neutral expression that can't even begin to mask the raw pain in the other man's eyes, but he ploughs forward, the painkillers making him bolder, perhaps, than he might have been otherwise.

"Will you marry me?" he asks.

The surprise on Phil's face might have been comical if not for his response.

"Steve," he says, a slight frown making its way to his face, "you've had a long day and—"

"So 'no' then," Steve says, cutting him off before he can finish. He doesn't want to hear the rest. "You can just say 'no.' I'd prefer it."

"I'm not saying 'no,'" Phil says with a sigh. "I'm just not saying 'yes' either. You've been through a lot today. More than a lot. It's not that I doubt your sincerity, it's just that…"

The agent pauses and Steve waits patiently, wondering what he could possibly have to say.

"You could have died. That kind of experience, especially in your case, leaves people on a sort of high afterwards," Phil says. "Before anything else, I want you to rest and recover and just take it easy for a while. Later, when you're off the painkillers and you've had time to think about it, if you want to ask me again, you can."

"Well… it's better than 'no,'" Steve responds.

"I'm sorry it's not the answer you wanted to hear," Phil says earnestly.

"It's fine. I understand," Steve says. "I'd probably have said the same thing."

"I don't doubt that you would have," Phil hums.

Phil hadn't said 'yes.' But that's alright. In all honesty, he's not sure what he was expecting anyway. Some time to think will benefit them both in the long run, and perhaps this way he can choose a slightly more appropriate locale than the Helicarrier's medical wing.

"And Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too."

He allows himself a small, content sigh. He'd needed to hear it, he just hadn't realized how much. Warmth of a different sort curls in his chest, makes its home there, and though he still shivers beneath the sheets, he swears he's never been warmer.


	6. And One Time It Was Different

Steve is exhausted. He's just returned from a three week long op with Clint, Natasha and Jasper and would like nothing more than to find the nearest horizontal surface and get reacquainted with the inside of his eyelids. But first he's going to find Phil, assuming he's not out on business himself. Thankfully, the agent is just where Steve had left him, which is in his office, at his desk, up to his eyeballs in paperwork. He's bent over whatever he's working on, his head resting in his left hand as his right continues to fill the reports out. Phil's diligence is something he considers to be a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's a very admirable quality and one they would be all be very lost without. On the other hand, Phil has a habit of being just a little _too_ diligent at times.

Now appears to be one of those times.

His first clue that something is off comes when the agent both fails to look up or address him as he shuts the office door quietly behind him. Typically, Phil seems to detect him before he's even reached the door and is always ready with his quick wit. With a frown Steve draws closer and observes. He realizes that, although Phil is still holding his pen poised to write, he isn't actually doing so. In fact, the pen is bleeding on the papers below and, likely, to the blotter below that. Is he sleeping? But Phil never sleeps on the job, never has as long as Steve has known him and likely long before that.

"Phil?"

He hears a quick intake of breath which quickly dissolves into a bone-rattling cough. Phil turns away from him, burying the cough in the crook of his elbow, nearly bent double from the force of it. When Steve reaches out, the agent attempts to wave him away, but Steve's having none of it. He lays a comforting hand on the man's back and is amazed when, even through layers of clothing, he can feel how warm Phil is. Phil is always warm, of course, but this is unnatural. Wrong. He quickly presses a hand to the shorter man's forehead as he recovers his breath and nearly recoils at the staggering heat.

"Jesus, Phil, you're burning up," he says in surprise.

"Just a cold," Phil answers, his voice sounding raspy. He rubs a hand across his chest. "It's nothing."

Steve gently grips his chin, titling his head back. The agent's eyes are glassy, red. "Hardly. When was the last time you slept?"

"I've been sleeping," Phil answers, clearing his throat.

"That's not what I asked," Steve says, his tone stern. "How long has this been going on? And why haven't any of the others noticed?"

Phil doesn't answer that. Which means he doesn't want Steve to know and can't think of a convincing lie quick enough to cover his tracks. Steve sighs, moving his hand to pass through Phil's hair.

"Stay put, I'll be right back," he says.

Phil doesn't seem like he has the motivation to go anywhere anytime soon, but it doesn't stop Steve from turning to glance back from the doorway to make sure the man hasn't moved. He hasn't. With a quick nod to himself, he ducks out and takes long-legged strides down the hallway. It's unfair, it's really unfair, for him to ask this, but considering the situation… He stops at the break room, knowing he'll find Jasper where he always is after long missions: doctoring up the hottest, strongest cup of whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. is passing off as coffee these days in an attempt to rouse himself for the flood of ensuing paperwork.

"Phil kicked you out already? Must be a new record," Jasper says, not looking over his shoulder.

"I wasn't kicked out, exactly," Steve says, coming to stand beside him. "Actually, I've got a bit of a favor to ask."

Jasper looks up at him, eyebrows raised as he leans against the counter, mug in hand. "What sort of favor are we talking about?"

"Phil's sick. I haven't been able to pry out of him just how long he's been this way, but it's no case of the sniffles, as much as he'd like me to believe it is," Steve says. "Do you think you could cover for him? At least for the rest of the day?"

Jasper sips pensively, then nods. "He'd have to be at death's door before he'd consider letting you talk him into leaving early, but you're welcome to try it. I've got you covered."

"Thanks," Steve says, clapping the agent on the shoulder affectionately. "I owe you one."

"More like five. I think you owe me at least five for this," Jasper corrects him.

"I'll owe you twenty and consider it a fair deal," Steve says. "I'll talk to Fury about getting someone to take over ASAP. You still need to rest, too."

Jasper snorts. "Coulson's not here to nag me, so I get Captain America instead. Alright, alright, enough, go on and get out of here before I change my mind."

"Already gone," Steve says, holding up his hands and backing out the door with a grin.

He thanks his lucky stars that they've got Jasper around. Between him and Phil, their team is kept running like a well-oiled machine, but besides that, Jasper Sitwell is about as loyal as they come. He's a good man and a good friend, and Steve has by now lost count of the many times he's found himself glad to have the bespectacled agent in the trenches with him. He still feels guilty for having asked; the past three weeks had been tiring for all of them, and the last thing Jasper probably needs at the moment is to carry a workload like Phil's on top of it. But it can't be helped.

Steve returns to Phil's office and finds its occupant in much the same stated as he'd left him. He approaches the desk and, carefully reaching over, plucks the pen from Phil's grasp. The agent shoots him a watered-down glare as he presses his lips together firmly to smother a cough.

"Captain," he says, his tone full of disapproval.

"No," Steve replies, grasping the arms of the man's chair and turning it towards him. "You don't get to argue about this. Sitwell's going to cover for the rest of the day and—"

"Sitwell just got back from a three week long op," Phil protests, his hands on Steve's wrists.

"Which is why I'm going to talk to Fury about getting someone else to take over for a few days," Steve says, freeing himself from the agent's grasp more easily than he'd like. "But for now, he's going to cover you and I'm taking you home. No arguments."

"As much as I appreciate your concern, I—"

"_Agent Coulson_," Steve says, cutting the agent off sharply. "Enough already. Stop being so mulish for five minutes and listen to reason. You're not getting anything done here; you can barely keep your eyes open and you've got a fever. A serious one. You're _sick_, agent, and if you push yourself, you're just going to make it worse. If you don't agree to take the rest of the day off, I'll go to Fury right now and have you suspended from duty until he or I say otherwise. This is not up for discussion."

It's a testament to just how ill Phil has to be that the agent doesn't even put forth a rebuttal. Typically they'd chew each other out for another ten to fifteen minutes before reaching any sort of conclusion, but now Phil just gives him a look that is exhausted, exasperated, and to his great surprise, thankful. The agent nods silently, moving to rise from his seat just as Steve makes a move to carry him from it. Phil puts a hand on Steve's chest to stop him, gently pushing him away.

"You're not carrying me."

"It'll be quicker—"

"I will not be seen being carried through the halls by Captain America."

Steve looks down at himself, still in full uniform, and has to admit he sort of sees where Phil's coming from. Still, it doesn't stop him from gripping the agent's arm supportively when he rises shakily from his seat and if anyone has the gall to stare, they quickly learn not to under the heat of his stern gaze.

* * *

Phil can't say no to Steve carrying him into the Tower, mainly due to the fact that he'd fallen asleep on the ride over and wasn't nearly coherent enough to argue. The heat radiating off of the agent has reached an uncomfortable temperature and, aside from getting the man to bed, the first thought on Steve's mind is finding some aspirin and a cool cloth.

They've undressed each other enough times—in fact he's ruined more than one of Phil's suits in an effort to rip the clothes off him as quickly as possible— for Steve to feel comfortable sitting Phil down on their bed and stripping him to his t-shirt and boxers, which takes longer than it should with Phil's fumbling, semi-lucid attempts to help. At last he gets Phil beneath the sheets, dims the lights and walks to the bathroom where he gathers two aspirin and wets a cloth. After retrieving a bottle of water he heads back to the bedroom, sits at the edge of the bed and briefly studies the shivering, coughing lump beneath the sheets.

"Phil, hey," he says softly, leaning over and tapping the agent's shoulder. "Sit up for a minute, okay? I need to you take these."

Phil groggily levers himself up to do so and summons enough energy to toss Steve a mutinous look when the soldier doesn't allow him to lie back until he's finished off half the bottle. That quickly transforms into a relieved sigh when Steve presses the cool cloth to his forehead.

"Try to get some sleep. I'll have Bruce come take a look at you when he gets in," Steve says. "I'll be right here until then."

"You'll get sick," Phil mumbles.

"I can't, remember?"

Phil frowns, appearing confused.

"You should… need to sleep, too. Anyway."

"Don't worry about it," Steve says leaning in and pressing a kiss to his temple. "We'll hold off on the cough suppressant until we find out what you've got, though, okay?"

"Mmm."

Steve lies in beside the agent, watching as he drifts towards sleep, only to be woken by his own coughing, time after time. He issues a quiet request to JARVIS to be notified when Bruce arrives and, getting an affirmative response, settles in for the wait.

* * *

Phil gets worse as the hours go on, murmuring deliriously now and again between bouts of bone-rattling coughs, and by the time Bruce returns to the Tower, Steve's certain it has to be something far more serious than the flu. The agent shivers as he sits propped against Steve, his breath coming in a slow wheeze as he burns hotter still. Bruce's examination is gentle, but thorough and Steve looks to him expectantly when the doctor takes his stethoscope from his ears.

"He needs to be hospitalized," Bruce declares.

"Why? What is it?" Steve asks, shifting his hold on the agent.

"He's got a collapsed lung, for one thing. And I'm fairly certain he's got pneumonia," Bruce responds. He shakes his head. "We'll need to run tests to confirm and I can't do that here. So why don't you pack a bag for him and we'll take him to S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. They'll have what I need to care for him there minus all the sick people, which is a definite plus."

"You'll be taking care of him?" Steve says questioningly.

Bruce spreads his hands before him peaceably. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

"No, I'd rather you did. Believe me, if there's anyone I trust him with, it's you," Steve declares, settling Phil back on the bed as he rises to pack his bag.

From his peripheral vision, he can see Bruce shifting uncomfortably, wringing his hands. Even after all this time, their resident doctor seems to have trouble with anyone on their team placing that much trust in him. Instead, Bruce occupies himself with his patient and hovers over the agent, his words coming in a steady, quiet murmur that Steve can hear but not decipher.

Bruce takes the bag from him when he's finished packing and Steve gathers Phil into his arms, hoping they can get him back to himself as soon as possible.

* * *

Watching Phil sleep, Steve can't help but feel grateful. From what Bruce has explained to him, this is a bad case of pneumonia, but it could have been infinitely worse. The damage caused by Loki—though now healed and scarred over—makes for greater susceptibility to this kind of illness. It would have started out as something resembling a mild cold, but left untreated it had developed into something far more serious.

He discovers that the reason no one had noticed Phil's declining health is because no one had been _around_ to notice. Bruce and Tony had been dispatched with Agent Pollock to investigate reports of what could have been Chitauri weaponry in Canada. Thor had been on Asgard. Pepper had been on business in California. Fury and Hill had been convened by the WSC for the reports on Chitauri activity, which had left Phil as Interim Director in their absence.

Put in such a position, it's hardly a surprise that Phil wouldn't take a sick day. Phil wouldn't have been likely to take a sick day even if everyone had been present and Fury had suspended him from work. Thankfully Fury and Hill had returned the same morning that Steve had; likely the only reason Phil had allowed himself to be pried from his desk. It certainly explains matters, but it doesn't make Steve any happier about them.

But he reminds himself again that it could have been worse. A few days of intravenous antibiotics and fluids had satisfied Bruce enough so that Phil could return home for the remainder of his recuperation. For once, Steve doesn't have to nag Phil to stay in bed and rest; the agent's too exhausted to even so much as argue with him, something that's both a relief and entirely worrisome.

When the shakes start up again, he slides into bed behind the other man, wrapping his arms around Phil's waist and draping himself over the agent. Phil rouses at that and shifts in Steve's embrace, turning until he's facing the soldier and Steve can feel the tickle of his breath upon his neck. Steve angles his head so that his cheek is pressed to Phil's forehead and makes a thoughtful noise.

"Hm. Fever's gone down," he notes.

"Feeling better," Phil declares, his voice still raspy. "Just cold."

"I'll heat up some of that soup Natasha made in a bit and we'll see how that hits you," Steve says. He rubs the shorter man's back, a slight smile playing across his lips. "Sorry, I don't seem to be quite as good at this as you are."

Phil hums quietly. "Could've fooled me."

Quelling his shivering takes time, but Steve gradually feels the tension leaking out of Phil's body as the chill is chased from his bones. It's strange, lying in bed together without that usual heat, but he can't say he misses it all that much at the moment. Not when it means being allowed to return the favor at least once. Eventually the agent is still, drawing deep even breaths that still sound a bit rattling to Steve's ears but which are much improved from the past week or so.

Barring any urgent matters that require his presence, he's notified Fury that he's on leave until Phil has recovered enough to return to work. The Director seemed all for the idea and was apparently of the opinion that if anyone could harass his One Good Eye into staying in bed for a few days, it was probably Steve. For his part, Steve wasn't sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.

For what it's worth, Phil hasn't argued with him on the matter. In fact, contrary to his usual behavior, Phil has followed every one of Bruce's directions to the letter. Typically Phil will do this anyway—until he decides that he knows better and proceeds to ignore any professional opinions as to his wellbeing. Sometimes that's straight away, other times it's after a day or two has passed and he knows he can get away with it. Though it must be said that he tends to the best patient out of the lot of them; which is probably where he gets the idea that he has the right to nag the rest of them about taking care of themselves.

But that's partly why this happened, isn't it? Steve would never say that Phil had it coming and there was no way for the agent to know it was something as serious as pneumonia, but if he'd just taken the time to swing by medical for a quick check-up… Well. No helping it now. And in the end, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. How many times has he reminded himself of that fact? Too many times and not enough.

It likely has something to do with the fact that Steve's feeling a little spooked. It had been, what… two months or so since he'd had to take that plane down? Since he'd blurted his proposal following his near-death experience? He still feels jarred from _that_ incident and then this came along. Thank God Phil is recovering well, but his mind keeps wandering to what might have happened. What if it _had_ been worse? What if Phil had been so sick that he—

"Stop thinking so loudly," Phil murmurs against his chest.

Steve starts suddenly. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," Phil responds pointedly.

"I woke you?" Steve says, sounding perplexed.

"No, I woke up on my own. But you're doing a lot of thinking about something and it's agitating you," Phil responds, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. "I don't have to be able to read your mind to know that."

"It's nothing," Steve assures him. "Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"I don't think that's going to happen for a while yet. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind instead?"

"We don't need to be talking about my problems when you're the one who's sick."

"I think talking might make us both feel better."

Steve sighs, knowing that he's not going to be getting out of this now. And maybe Phil's right. Maybe it will do them both some good to talk. They're due for one, anyway.

"Maybe we do need to talk," Steve admits. "It's just… It feels like we've been dodging bullets lately. More than the real ones."

"I can't disagree," Phil says.

"I keep telling myself to just be glad you're not as sick as you could have been, but I can't seem to settle with that. They say bad things come in threes and between crashing that plane in the ocean and you catching pneumonia, I can't say that I'm all too thrilled to find out what's behind Door #3," Steve tells him.

"Good use of pop culture reference," Phil praises him.

"Phil, I'm serious here," Steve says, even as he fights back a smile.

Phil nods and steers them back to the conversation at hand. "Bad things happen, Steve."

"I know, I just…"

He blows out an aggravated breath.

"I know bad things happen and that they'll keep happening and that the bad things that happen to us are bound to be worse than the bad things that happen to other people because it's part of what we do," Steve says. "We get good things, too. Sometimes we get very good things. But in choosing this line of work, in choosing this life, have we lost the right to some of the good things everyone should be entitled to?"

"Such as?" Phil prompts.

Steve watches him silently for approximately one minute. Phil doesn't look away, just holds his gaze without offering up a single word as they lie facing each other. It's not often that Steve manages to sound unsure, but this is one of those rare times.

"There are certain things that I've wanted for as long as I can remember. With how my life has gone, I've… not given up, exactly, but I've placed many of those wants aside. Things have changed. I've changed. And continuing to want some of those things seems selfish, almost," Steve says slowly. "I've come to terms with the fact that there isn't going to be any house with a white picket fence for me. I think it's kind of ironic, in a way, that the American Dream isn't something that Captain America can really have."

He shakes his head.

"But is wanting to marry you too much to ask?" he wonders aloud. "I haven't found an answer to that yet. I asked you to marry me because I wanted it. I wanted you. And I could only hope that you wanted that, too, because I've lost count of how many times I've caught myself imagining how you might look wearing a wedding band. I don't know if that's something we can have. And if it isn't, then I want whatever we _can_ have for as long as we can possibly have it. I want you for as long as you'll have me. Maybe that's only for a few years or a few months or weeks. Maybe that's only for a few _minutes_, but damn it all, Phil, I have never wanted anything in my life as badly as I want you. So whatever it is, I'll take it. I just need to know if what you want is the same as what I want."

It's Phil's turn to fall silent and as he digests this, he realizes that Pepper had been right. Steve has been worrying over precisely the same things that he has, but where he's used those examples as excuses to shy away, Steve is now using them as reasons to move forward. That's what Pepper had been trying to get him to see. He hadn't been able to. It had been right in front of him and he'd refused to see it. But he sees it now. This time he's ready. This time he understands. This time he's not running away.

"Do you remember how I told you that you could ask me again after you'd had time to think about it?" Phil asks.

Steve's eyes never leave his when he nods.

"Ask me again," Phil instructs quietly.

"You're not well—"

"I'm not an invalid."

Steve slides his hand across the short space between them and gently tugs the hem of the other man's shirt.

"When our roles were reversed, you made me wait. You made me recover first," he reminds Phil.

"And you think I should do the same," Phil guesses. He'd like very much to argue, to make Steve understand that while, yes, he's unwell, he's capable of handling this. But he hadn't allowed any argument when he'd been in Steve's place. So he bites his tongue. "Alright."

The soldier levers himself up on his elbow and presses a quick kiss to the agent's temple; his nonverbal way of relaying his thanks.

"You're due for your medication. Sit tight and I'll be right back," he instructs as he slips out of bed.

Phil sighs and rolls onto his back, pulling the covers up just a bit higher as he does so. He's drowsy still and the temptation to let sleep claim him again is strong, but the chill is creeping back and he finds himself hoping Steve will return soon. Lucky for him, the soldier is prompt as always. Steve sits on Phil's side of the bed, ready with a handful of pills and a glass of water as Phil slowly pulls himself into a seated position.

Phil makes quick work of downing the pills and most of the glass of water, wanting to get it out of the way as soon as possible. As Steve sets the glass on the nightstand, he moves off the bed. But rather than standing, he surprises Phil by taking a knee.

"I thought you wanted to wait," Phil says.

"Only until after I'd gotten you to take your medication," Steve says. He reaches for something in his pocket and, once he's retrieved it, he presses it into Phil's hand. "I wasn't sure how to go about this. There wasn't exactly a handbook for me to reference so I just went with what felt right."

When Steve removes his hand, Phil can see what he's been handed: a pair of dog tags. Steve's dog tags.

"It's not conventional, I know, but I gave it a lot of thought and it seemed better than any alternative," Steve says. "Phil, will you marry me?"

Phil swallows thickly around the lump in his throat, done in by the dog tags in his hand and the sight of Steve's too-blue eyes gazing up at him as though he's really not sure how Phil will answer. And Phil supposes that's partly his fault. They should have done this right the first time. _He_ should have done it right the first time. But that doesn't matter now.

He clears his throat. "Yes."

And then Steve is smiling up at him and he knows he must be blushing something fierce because he swears he's never felt as warm as he does now.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Phil says quietly.

Steve surges up, catching him in an eager, elated kiss that has Phil bracing his hands on the soldier's arms. He shifts his hold, pulling until Steve slides into bed beside him once more. They huddle close beneath the sheets, talking on and on until Phil can't push sleep away any longer and drifts off with Steve's arms wrapped tightly around him.

Seeing his dog tags clutched in Phil's hand as he sleeps, Steve feels lighter than he has in weeks. The agent is a warm, solid weight in his arms, and he has a feeling he'll be able to look forward to moments like this for a very long time. With that thought in mind, he slips into a warm, peaceful slumber.


End file.
